A Sheep In Wools' Clothing

"K" is for Keets

Guinea fowl keets, or baby chicks less than twelve weeks old. These interesting birds are my new perimeter alarm system, since my geese met an untimely demise shortly after I put in a pond for their pleasure.  Now the pond is my contribution to my habitat's wildlife on my little four acres of Maine woods, but without the goose poop messing up the edge and geese eating the water plants.

Back to the subject.  Guinea fowl are very territorial, and will send out an alarm to any new intruder or predator.  They can free range during the day, but do need the security and protection from predators of being brought in at night.  They can be quite social with humans if accustomed from an early age to being handled.  My spinning flock friend, Megan, is the one who first introduced me to the birds.  Hers would even come to the window and tap on it to get attention, but hers was an only Guinea.

These guys I picked up when they were 3-4 days old.  We'll know when they are about 12 weeks, which are female and which are male.  The only way to sex them is by their calls - the females have a two-toned call, similar to "buck wheat" and the males have a single-toned call of "chi chi chi".  Otherwise, plumage and size-wise, it is impossible to tell the genders apart.

By two weeks of age, they are starting to get their real feathers in.  As adults, they have bald appearing heads with red skin appendages hanging off, making them look quite odd.  They service their area by eating slugs, ticks, spiders, mosquitoes, and other harmful insects to plants, all without harming the plants.  If introduced to tomatoes, they will apparently eat them however.  For now, they are feeding and growing indoors where we can keep an eye on them and keep them warm.  Soon, we'll install perches and a bird door on the former goose house (shed), and replace the flooring, as well as put up inside plywood on the walls for added insulation both for winter warmth, but also as additional protection from predators such as weasels, fishers, and the like.

PS  No, DD is not really eating the keet.  Please note the very expensive straight teeth.  We moved while the braces were in progress, so it cost me almost double to finish the job!

"H" is for Haunted Castle

On the Ireland trip, as it was a trip with high school students, and attempting to be affordable for many, we stayed exclusively in Youth Hostels.  The one with the most character, though deficient of most modern conveniences (no TV, no Internet, no laundry facilities, marginal gas output on the stove, and the female chaperons slept in a dorm with 14 mixed gender folks, where the girls had to go through our dorm to get to the bathrooms) was Foulksrath Castle.

The castle is a 15th century Anglo-Norman tower house which was converted in 1948 to a hostel.  The bathrooms have been added on discretely to preserve the castle's external appearance.  The dining hall has the stone walls, and where the windows are, one can see just how thick those walls are! The stairway leading up to the four floors is a winding, narrow affair where two people can hardly pass without knocking someone over.  The boys got the dorm on the fourth floor, and got he privilege  of hauling their bags up there!

The castle is reported to be haunted. , including incidents with its present owner/manager.  It was investigated by the British Ghost Hunters show.  Our male chaperons experienced the door of their room opening on them five times.  They finally had to lock the door to keep it closed.  In the morning, the door would stay shut without being locked.  In the girls dorm, they said one of them was talking and a single word echoed.  They could not duplicate the echo again, either by her or the other girls.  One of our boys stayed up late with a video camera trying to catch a ghost on video, but I think he fell asleep without catching one...

While the night spent in a 14 person dorm of mixed genders wasn't very restful - the last people came to bed somewhere around 3 am, and the girls trotted through our dorm to get to the outside door to the bathroom addition, letting cold air in the dorm, not to mention the cacophony of snoring (including my own) - it was one of the more entertaining nights!  The men sharing the dorm were young, from Spain, and stripped down to get in bed.  I don't think I need to say more.  The other female chaperon with me hid under her duvet...

"G" is for Glendalough, Ireland

WARNING:  Picture-heavy post.  My apologies to anyone with dial-up.  Click for larger.

Our first night on the recent high school trip to Ireland was spent in Glendalough, Ireland near Dublin.  Next door to the Youth Hostel where we stayed, was a place called "St. Kevin's Kitchen."  It was founded in the 6th century as a monastery by St. Kevin.  In the 11th century, it became an oratory.

The monastery is in a beautiful lush valley between two lakes.  It is said that St. Kevin lived in a cell by one of the lakes, overlooking the valley where he eventually founded the monastery.  The collection of buildings includes a round tower, a unique Irish architecture form.  I loved the texture of the stone buildings, and frequently, there would be small ferns or moss growing between the stones.  The headstones have been shifted by centuries of ground shifting.  These graveyards are still in use today, and one can see a shiny contemporary headstone adjacent to one scarcely legible after centuries of weathering.

It was here in Glendalough we started seeing the narrow lanes bordered by wonderful rock walls.  Where in Scotland, farmers used posts and barbed wire fencing, in Ireland I rarely saw wire fencing, but the rock walls were an abundant art form.  Along with the rock walls were also sheep-prool styes and gates through the walls.  I did miss not being able to gather the fleece shed on the wire fences - I wanted to spin a sample hank of yarn for the sponsoring teacher, but collected insufficient quantities off the ground at the Hills of Tara which was really the only place we were in the sheep's pasture.

This place was one of my favorites - perhaps because we could wander through the monastery grounds at twilight, then again in the early morning sun.  Perhaps because it was so beautiful and peaceful.  It is easy to see why St. Kevin located here and founded his monastery in this valley!

"F" is for Faux Visages

When I was first separated from my husband, and feeling traumatized about the events unfolding, frequently feeling like my life belonged on Jerry Springer's show, I started learning about some Native American traditions, shamanic healing, and shamanic journeying.  I didn't get too far into the true nature of these things, as the tools available to me were books and the Internet.  While these resources have a wealth of information, it is difficult to figure out what is true and what is New Age hype.  Shamanic and Native American traditions are traditionally taught in person, in apprenticeship fashion.  These gifts are bestowed upon someone hand chosen, and not by book learning. 

In the course of my personal journey, I had a dream encounter with an individual I at first thought was dark and threatening, wearing a mask.  I again turned to the Internet, as I do.  It is free, it is available at 2 a.m., there is a ton of stuff out there.  I was searching for what the face was in this individual from my dream.  I found the face in an Internet image - it was a Native American spirit mask.  Many indigenous cultures have spirit masks used in ritual dances. t

And so began my journey into spirit masks.

On one of the two trips to Quebec City I've gone on as a chaperon for my kids' French classes in middle school (debit card transactions here in Maine have a choice of English, French or Spanish), we visited the Huron Indian reservation outside Quebec City.  Much to my amazement, in their gift shop, they had for sale Faux Visages - translated to "false image" or spirit mask.  On the first trip, I purchased one.  On the second trip, the gift shop on the reservation was closed but I found Faux Visages in a shop in the Old City.  I picked up two red ones on that trip, one life sized and one small one. The red is particularly dear to the Hurons in these masks.

These three  decorate the Great Room wall in my home, near the cast iron propane stove, a painting by my aunt of a Crow Indian grandmother, and a painting by my son of that same corner of the room, with Hero on the floor.

"D" is for Doorus

OK.  So I'm not going in alphabetical order.  Don't hire me as a secretary - I would probably stink at it unless you want a scarf knitted for the filing cabinets anyway! (Another picture-heavy post ahead in case you have dial-up).

Doorus House Youth Hostel is one of the places we stayed for a few days in Ireland.  Our group totaled 21 - eleven boys, six girls and four chaperons.  At this hostel, we were housed in a separate building from the main one, but the special thing about this hostel was very much appreciated by our sponsoring English teacher, Dr. Fred Jones (yes, my kids' high school has a number of Ph.D. teachers!).

Our hostess at the hostel is an American ex-pat from the Pacific NW, who moved to Ireland nine years ago and has dual citizenship through post-nuptial citizenship (now impossible to obtain).  She used to run the hostel, and was helping the current manager out due to illness.  She was a wealth of information about the house and the area.  The hostel had pets names things like "D.O.G." and "C.A.T" but there was an Irish name in there, too, but I am not fast enough on the Gaelic to pick it up and remember the cat's name.

This hostel, as a private residence, was owned in the nineteenth century by Florimond Alfred Jacques, Comte de Basterot.  In the summer of 1898, a neighbor of Augusta Lady Gregory requested that she meet with William Butler Yeats in this house.  And so, Lady Gregory met Mr. Yeats in Doorus House and from those conversations, the Abbey Theatre was formed.

Drawings of the Comte de Basterot, Lady Gregory and William Yeats were in the common room of the hostel.  One can sit in front of the peat fire in awe of the history that unfolded in that very room.  The hostel was situated adjacent to some ruins which the kids roamed around in by twilight.  In the courtyard between hostel buildings, spring was showing off despite the wintery temperatures at the time of our visit.  The spring flowers and budding trees were a welcome sight for these Mainers who've had a long and snowy winter this year!  And the temps may have been Irish winter temps, but they were Maine spring temps, so we were fine.

Our students were dumbfounded by the hot water systems.  The fact they had to conserve hot water so all could shower, and the fact that one actually has to use hot water and soap to wash dishes seemed to strike some of them as a foreign concept.  Some, when confronted with needing to wash, dry and put away their own dishes, opted against having breakfast.  It was shocking to me, and embarrassing,  that there are mothers who have not taught their children how to do dishes, and that Americans still don't get how incredibly fortunate we are to live in this country with its freedoms and abundance!

On a comparison note between Scotland and Ireland, I found the Irish to be much more gregarious with us, and asking a few questions here and there gleaned all sorts of information and interesting stuff.  I found the Scots much more reserved and their answers were more direct, and less forthcoming.  I was awestruck at the differences - I guess I thought the two countries would be more alike, but the spirit and flavor of the two is quite different.  Scotland had wide open areas, few trees, and wire fences.  The Scottish land owners were willing to allow the public access to their property to see tombs - many of which were still active sheep fields.  In Ireland, laws allow a visitor on the owner's property to sue for any injuries, so the Irish land owners were far less willing to allow the public access to see the tombs and stone age ruins.  The Irish countryside was full of lovely rock walls - an art form unto itself, hedgerows, flowers, flowering shrubs, trees, and nature's beauty in abundance.  Scotland was a windswept tundra sort of beautry.  Very different.  Both lovely.

"E" is for Eichheim (the other one - Jean)

Yeah, I know - I've skipped over "D" for now.  Consider yourselves the recipients of a Sheep Raincheck on that one!

Tracy Eichheim is the husband of this twosome.  The Eichheims own Woolly Designs and have sold Majacraft wheels for longer than the company's current owners have owned the company.  Tracy makes wonderful spindles (you must try one if you haven't), but Jean is the creator of one of my most-used objects in my household.  For that, she deserves some credit also.

Jean crochets (and I don't).  She crochets Christmas ornaments.  BUT, Jean also crochets tea cosies.  Specifically, she crochets a lovely sheep tea cosy with a face staring at one from one side.  Even here in Maine, with my thermostats turned WAY down this past winter, the cosy kept my tea hot for over an hour.

So, next time you check out Tracy's spindles, take a look at Jean's cosies, too!  And have a cuppa!

"C" is for Chase the Collie

DD will be happy to see "her" dog in the blog this time.  She's always giving me a hard time because I don't show him here daily.  Chase is a rough coat Collie - my second Collie, but first rough coated one.  He's a sweet dog and companion, but left to his own devices, he'd probably hold a door open for an intruder.  I am sure the pack instinct would have him follow the lead of the GSDs to protect us personally.  He'll be joining the ranks of "my" dogs when DD leaves for college this fall.  When I am up for her having an apartment at school, I'd like him to be with her for some protection and companionship.  Meanwhile, she'll take the horse with her - the school she's chosen has a boarding stable on campus, and the boarders co-op stall and feeding chores....

This position on the couch is one of his favorites, although right now my female GSD has that spot.  He hates been brushed, so we have to take him to the groomers where their equipment makes the task easier.  The first summer we had him, the kids decided he was hot, and they shaved him.  The poor dog looked embarrassed for months until the coat grew back in the fall.  Since then, I make groomers promise me they won't shave him, even if we have to work longer, or pay more to keep the long coat.  When he is clean and brushed, he waves that plume of a tail quite royally ....

"A" Is For Apothecary

A couple of weeks before Christmas, my eldest son (Kille's Brother Alpha) who was about to graduate from college with his Bachelor's of Fine Arts (read between the lines, beware of what is to follow) asked me if I minded receiving a Halloween themed Christmas present.  What mother in her right mind would say anything other than "Of course not."  I didn't think much more about it.  Then Christmas morning arrived, and a large bottle box was set in front of me with glowing faces of the scheming offspring behind it.

Inside the box were bottles of all shapes, heights, diameters and purposes.  To each, there were antiqued hand lettered labels with such names as "Frog Flakes", "Brain Mold", "Dried troll boogers", "Zombie powder", "Granny's Gillyweed", "Mucus tubes" made creatively from latex gloves and superglue, "Alaskan bull worms" from fishing lures, "Dragon blood", my personal favorite "Essence of Llama", "Frosted Fairie Wings", "Hobgoblin toenails", "Boomslang Skin", "Liquid Evil" and "Bat saliva". 

I have no idea how to display these at this point (I have asked for an antique appearing apothecary shelf to be made), but I do believe it has got to be the absolutely best Christmas present I've ever received. 

(And no, I am not a practicing witch or anything, nor are my children.)